


once more, with feeling

by riots



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Destroy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Post-Mass Effect 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riots/pseuds/riots
Summary: If a pilot makes a shitty joke in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it still suck?





	once more, with feeling

Hand pressed to his mouth, Joker stares at the screen. He’s got that stim headache pressing behind his eyes, and he should probably like, eat something. Something real, with a bit of substance to it. He’s been steadily working his way through the crate of potato chips Kaidan had brought in for him the last time he’d swung by, and not even an hour ago, his fingers hit the bottom. Probably doesn’t count though. It’s a good thing that Doctor Chakwas isn’t around. She’d probably get on his ass for not taking care of himself, and she’d be right.

In front of him, the screen blinks, empty, cycling through the fourteenth failed test today, and Joker shifts, grimacing. He’s been still for too long, and forgot his meds again. His legs throb, ankle to hip, and there’s a persistent ache setting up camp in the small of his back. “Nice counterpoint to the headache, I guess,” he mutters, sighing. If a pilot makes a shitty joke in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it still suck?

He should head down to the mess. The one in the base, not the Normandy’s. They’ve been docked for so long, even the last of the MREs have probably been cleared out. Waste not, want not, when you’re trying to rebuild the whole galaxy. Thing is, Joker’s not really looking for any social interactions right now. He’s never been the friendliest guy and since the world ended, he’s gone ahead and dialled that right up to eleven.

It’s just - hard. The only people he’s ever really liked are mostly gone now, scattered to the wind. Shepard’s barely conscious on a Salarian medical ship about three systems away, getting the best care they’ve got left. Chakwas went with her, figured her experience with Shepard’s cybernetic implants oughta help. Garrus splits his time between her bedside and what was left of Palaven, pitching in with the rebuilding efforts. Turns out he’d ended up perilously close to running the Hierarchy. Joker snorts. Primarch Vakarian. Now there’s an image. 

Liara’s on Thessia, Tali’s on Rannoch, and Kaidan’s been tied up with Alliance bullshit for months, leaving Joker, alone with the Normandy and her repair crew in some hole in the ground in the sliver of Earth that hadn’t been beat to shit. 

And it’s fine, honestly. Joker’s not sure he’s really flight-ready anymore, and it’s been a hell of a long time since he piloted anything that wasn’t the Normandy. He doesn’t really want to. It’s home, even if it hurts. He spreads one hand flat over his heart and only exhales, eyes sliding shut as the screen turns black and quacks out a negative. 

Liara said it was unhealthy, once. The video feed was grainy over cobbled together comm buoys, but her concern was clear. “It’s not good for you,” she’d said, and she’d leaned in, eyes sad. “You can’t stay there forever, Joker. At some point, you just have to - “

“Oh look,” Joker had replied, voice ragged. “I’m losing the signal. So hard to keep in touch these days.” His gaze had dropped to his lap and he realized that he was clenching his hands. “Gotta go.” Her face had flickered out as he pressed the disconnect button and he’d sat for a moment, listening to the soft noise of workers on the hull. 

That was months ago. Now, the repair work is almost done. Slap a shiny new coat of paint on her and she’d be ready to go. The Normandy would probably never serve the Alliance again like she did, but the brass wanted to pretty her up, put her on parade. Hackett had dropped some hints, obliquely letting it slip that Joker could have the post, if he cleaned himself up, but - well. It’s just hard.

Even with a full complement of repair workers, the Normandy felt empty.

Sometimes, Joker resents Shepard for it. Yeah, sure, she saved the galaxy and all, but sometimes it feels like Joker’s the one paying the price. He knows it’s bullshit, knows she’s down a leg and most of one hand, has to relearn to talk, but he can’t help feeling mean when his eyes slide over to the empty copilot’s seat. Feels like his ribcage has been hollowed out and left to heal, this unfathomably big ache that he can’t figure out how to move past.

He’s really not sure he wants to, either.

“I’m a one computer man,” Joker says to the empty ship. It doesn’t say anything back.

It’s been nearly two years since the Normandy limped home, since the relays were coaxed back into working order and the rest of the crew scattered. Two years Joker’s spent living at the helm of the ship, patiently replacing parts of EDI’s core and coaxing it back into functioning order. And six months ago, it had worked. 

Except, not really. Whatever pulse Shepard had sent through the galaxy must’ve wiped EDI’s processors clean. Joker’s no computer genius but with help from Tali and Miranda he’d figured out how to dig through EDI’s core, searching for traces of her programming. There had to be something. _Something_. He’s getting so goddamn tired of these test programs and that godawful squawk when they come up empty. Sometimes, he hears it in his dreams.

Joker’s stomach gurgles at him in a vaguely painful way and he scrubs at his eyes, scowling at the screen. One more. He’ll queue up one more test program, then he’ll get something to eat. Maybe even sleep. What a novel idea. Chakwas would be real proud. If he’s feeling real ambitious, he might even figure out what he did with his meds and take those too. He’s gonna need his crutches for a while after a long day like today.

He reaches out a hand to code in the intro instructions, when the console gives a soft chime. “That’s new,” he says, and no matter how bad he wants to tamp it down, there’s a terrible hope rising up in his chest. He stays frozen, one hand almost at the haptic controls. He’s almost afraid to breathe, in case he somehow ruins this. Whatever it is. “Probably just a glitch,” he says, but _God_ , what if it isn’t -

The console begins to beep rhythmically, and it takes a second for Joker to hear it, the pattern to it. It’s not an alert, too erratic for that. No alarm, because he hasn’t been running anything and the core hasn’t been hooked up to the Normandy herself since they put her in drydock. No, it’s almost like - “Holy shit,” Joker breathes. “Morse code?”

He sits up so fast his head spins, or maybe that’s the way his breath is shuddering in his chest. It’s been too long since training, and his head’s too fogged up on exhaustion and more energy drinks than any one human should consume, he can’t remember how to decipher it. He brings up a translation on his omnitool and then he sits, hands shaking, waiting, waiting, waiting.

A soft click, and then words, scrolling in front of him. _JEFF. JEFF. JEFF. JEFF. JEFF. JEFF. JEFF._ Over and over and over.

Joker manages one breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and then he drops his face into his hands, crying.


End file.
